


Recessional

by choir



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choir/pseuds/choir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Certain things never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recessional

**Author's Note:**

> Rant fic. Needed to get some stuff out of my system.
> 
> Title is from "Recessional" by Vienna Teng, which I listened to on repeat while writing this.

There are some things that are always set in stone _—_  such is the way of life. Misfortunes, gains, losses, weaknesses, strengths; Hanai wants to believe that there is a reason for their existence within his life.  
  
Deaths, too. Hanai desperately clings to the idea that there must be a reason for them, as well; while he is not a religious man, he prays for his own selfish reasons, to his own personal God, if it could be called such a thing. Though he finds the act naive and wrong, he never ceases it, fearing his thoughts against the silence if he did not pretend to speak to a higher power.  
  
In this way, he likes to pretend that the fire and energy Tajima left in his wake are still in the world, somehow, permeated through everything. The laughter on the streets, the quiet brooding at night. Somehow, _somehow_ , none of him was wasted. Every cell, every molecule, every atom _—_  all of it shared with the world, brightened by Tajima’s wondrous smile and selfless attitude, so different from Hanai’s. Hanai envies him, because of this, because it is a blessing, not a curse, to have Tajima return to the world so easily, so simply.  
  
He faintly wonders if he is too old to have such broad, unstable wishes; they are too abstract, impossible to obtain. After all, he has not had such a helpless attitude since high school.  
  
 _Dear Lord_ , he wishes he could say, _I hope Tajima finds happiness._  
  
But there is no one listening, no one that will ever answer besides the chill that runs through Hanai’s fingers when he presses his palm against the cool stone in the cemetery. He knows this, time and time again proved by an increasing emptiness passing through him.  
  
His visits every other month only further this knowledge, painful and harsh as it is. He catches wisps of people, sometimes, who stare at the headstone through the gates but never enter; Mihashi, no longer hiding behind Abe, but leading him; Mizutani, fully grown and holding Chiyo’s hand like a lifeline; Izumi, Sakaeguchi -- the list goes on much more past just Nishiura.  
  
They are all different people, now. Everyone moved on past purely being connected to baseball; surely, Hanai and Tajima did as well, though still together until Hanai was no longer able to use the word _them_.  
  
But some things truly never change, he thinks, kneeling down against the grass stained with dew. This, arguing with a Tajima that now only exists in his head, is one of them.  
  
 _Hello, Tajima._  
  
Hanai exhales, shaky and unsure, and continues.  
  
 _How are you?_

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
_“I am happy!” says Tajima; he is wearing his normal grin as he clasps Hanai’s hand, despite his grip being so weak, a whisper in the wind._   
  
_“Even here?”_   
  
_The white walls of the hospital are mocking, in Hanai’s ears; they press jeers against the back of his legs and make him barely able to stand._   
  
_“Yeah!” Tajima’s eyes are wild, and though Hanai does not like to admit it, they are overly desperate; the brightness in them is not happiness, like he wishes._   
  
_“If you say so,” Hanai grumbles, raking his hand through Tajima’s tangled mess of hair._   
  
_Tajima gently kisses Hanai’s wrist, in reply. “You read too much into it. You’re here, right?”_   
  
  
  



End file.
